


my hero(ine)

by highfaenyx



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Meditation, Reflection, Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highfaenyx/pseuds/highfaenyx
Summary: In the end, when we are all ash and trails on the wind, we are also something more – we are stories.We are stories we tell, stories we live, stories we believe in.“Just make it a good one, eh? Because it was, you know, it was the best.”





	my hero(ine)

I have created a hero of my own story, and I wanted her to be smart; to be brave and fearless. Perhaps, she is; but she has turned out to be so, so much more.  
For her being brave and fearless and intelligent is not enough.

She is loyal until the very end of the line - to those she cares for. Yes, her loyalty is absolute only in her own definition; yet her devotion is as deep as she can give.  
She is able to love sincerely, and it is impossible for her to hate - also sincerely.  
She loves people, who are imperfect, sinful, earthly; just because she is, too.  
She can forgive a mistake, but would never yield to a betrayal.  
She knows that everything has a price tag stick to it, a price tag she would have to pay sooner or later.  
She knows that there things which do not have a price - and that means they cost nothing; yet she can give everything she has and that might still be not enough.  
Her smile doesn’t cost her anything except for everything she has.  
She believes in love, and knows it does not exist.  
She knows of death, and does not fear it.  
She doesn’t know what is waiting for her beyond the horizon; whether she has only a life or many; but she believes the life has a meaning.  
She gives herself to the others, not leaving anything for herself - that is the only way to get it all.  
She is naive, but knows about her naivety; that is a strength she possesses.

She loves nights, dark starry skies and fresh air on the top of her lungs; dusty dance floors of the gay clubs, sparkly balls just under the ceiling and electro swing in the speakers.  
She loves books and the stories they engulf; evenings by the fire, fingers at the edges of the sheets.  
A cup of coffee warming up the hands; or another hand in hers, eager to share a silent moment being alone together.  
Yes, she does like to share - with those she cares for; that is how she understands happiness.  
She loves entangled labyrinths made out of symbols and digits; mysterious Hilbert spaces and weirdnesses of a theory which can unveil the cloth of reality, even if just for a moment.  
She knows that science is real, and believes in gods walking the earth somewhere incredibly close and indistinguishably far away from her.  
She hides her sadness and tears behind a smile; despite everything, it is always sincere.  
She knows she is not that beautiful or pretty; not like she ever really cared.  
She is of those who could have had anyone; but she desires only those she cannot have.  
She laughs when she wants to cry, and smiles, if the corners of her lips are turning themselves down.  
She knows that nothing in this world is worthy of her tears; her battles cannot be truly lost while she is still alive and breathing. She knows that in the end, she will lose; but this doesn’t mean she is not hoping to win.  
She accepts people as they are; she doesn’t try to fix them, because she does not see the point.  
There is a shard of bitterness in her heart; also loneliness, and old ugly scars; but whose which heart is complete and untouched?  
She fills it with love: to the night, to the theories, to the stories; to people.  
She values them, because once upon a time long ago she was deprived of them, and thus she knows their true value.

She loves wine, gin tonic and rum - and hates beer.  
She knows that the best things always hide where she wouldn’t even think looking.  
She is not looking - because she believes what is meant to be will happen, and what’s not… then she tosses a coin and goes for heads or tails.  
She does not lit herself up as a fire, and does not flash like a lightning; it’s more like she gleams, softly and patiently, akin to a star in the dark starry sky.  
She loves coffee, and, yes, it is an addiction; not the worst one, really.  
She values the threads connecting her to the ones, and breaks off the chains tying her up to the others.  
She understands that the threads are just an illusion of a choice; but sometimes an illusion is better than the truth.  
She knows the the truth is relative; but sincerity is not. 

She loves narrow town streets, buildings made out of the crimsonest rocks and white facades of palaces; red district lights and skyscrapers next to ancient temples. For her mountains and oceans are one and the same, like two side of a coin which grounds itself on turtles carried by a whale; the coin’s name is Earth. She would never leave that amazing place; maybe only to die seeing the light of the stars far beyond her reach a bit closer.

But now - she is still alive.

She is alive, and loves to be amongst those who are as alive as her, and, perhaps, that is the only thing that truly matters.


End file.
